


Idle Hands

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Made For Each Other, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Other, Sharing a Body, Vessel Sam, Wings, minor mention of destiel, updates are inconsistent but i promise they will continue to happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5911735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Apocalypse, Sam and Dean are once again roaming the country - except, instead of leaving his soul behind, Lucifer has hitched a ride back with him. This is far less devastating to the Earth than Dean feared it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is a burning curiosity in Lucifer, a need to understand and deconstruct. In a way, it’s easy to see Lucifer as an inventor, or an engineer, breaking something down to its most base elements and slowly building it up again, learning how the pieces affect each other. It’s a long, drawn out process, but very interesting to watch.

Sam watches from the corner of his eye as Lucifer deconstructs the motel room’s small fridge, humming quietly. He isn’t using tools, merely wills screws and bolts out of their sockets, peeling things apart with the utmost care. _Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop_ , Sam thinks, and bites back a laugh as he tries to refocus on finding a hunt.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean says, pulling his eyes away from the newspapers he’s been scanning for oddities. “I’m gonna call it a night, head to the bar.” His eyes skip to Lucifer, who is dutifully ignoring him, and back to Sam with faintly raised eyebrows. _You wanna come and get away from this freaky angel?_

“Okay,” Sam says, offers half a smile that says _Nah, but thanks._ “I’ll keep working, maybe pick up some food later. Want me to bring you back anything?”

Dean shrugs, ambivalent on both topics. “Only if you go somewhere with pie.”

Lucifer shifts, and their eyes skip to him while he turns to Dean. “Can you explain your obsession with pie?” he asks. Dean just glares at him, then rolls his eyes.

“Pie is delicious,” he says patronizingly. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he adds, then grins, winking. “Or, y’know. _Not._ ”

Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean just laughs under his breath and walks out the door, locking it behind him. Then he turns his eyes to Lucifer, and the thoughtful frown on his face.

“Dean is aware that we know he’s meeting Castiel, isn’t he?” Lucifer asks, head tilting, and Sam might choke on his laughter a little bit.

He shakes his head, grinning. “No, I don’t think so. Dean doesn’t want us to know, and since we haven’t brought it up, he isn’t gonna talk about it.”

Lucifer hums thoughtfully, and goes back to deconstructing the fridge. By the end of the next half hour, the machine is nothing but a pile of parts in a wide circle around Lucifer’s spot on the floor, and Sam is frustrated with the lack of cases.

“Dean’s trysts with Castiel,” Lucifer starts, sounding curious and scaring the shit out of Sam. “Are they similar to ours?”

Sam lets out a sharp breath, closes his laptop, and abandons the idea of working productively for the rest of the night. “A little, I guess. We’re both trying to keep it secret.”

Lucifer nods, and then stands up, maneuvering his way out of the pile towards Sam. “And if we weren’t being subtle? What would we be then?”

Sam scoots his chair back to give Lucifer the room he needs to climb into Sam’s lap. Cold hands press against either side of his face, and Lucifer leans in. Sam waits with baited breath for a moment, and laughs a little when he realizes Lucifer is still waiting for an answer.

“We’d be just the same,” he says. “Kiss me.”

Lucifer smiles, then leans in. His mouth is cold against Sam’s, insistent but gentle as he tilts Sam’s head to a more appropriate angle. Sam melts into it, hands finding their way to Lucifer’s waist and hooking his thumbs in the loops of his jeans. It stays chaste and sweet, and as the kiss lengthens Sam finds himself relaxing into his chair more and more.

He hums low in his throat when Lucifer draws back a little, eyes closed from the pleasure that glides through him, warm and slow. Lucifer’s mouth is warmer now, trailing along the curve of Sam’s jaw, and he noses at the spot just beneath his ear affectionately. Sam slides a hand up Lucifer’s spine in turn, until his fingers are combing through soft blond hair and scratching gently at his scalp. Lucifer mumbles something unintelligible and slumps against Sam, relaxing fully at the pleasant, soothing movements. He sighs when Sam starts tracing his hipbone, thumb gliding gently over smooth skin. His hands slide down to either side of Sam’s neck, fingers combing through the soft hairs there.

When Sam’s stomach rumbles, Lucifer laughs, low in his throat and terribly amused. He plants his hands against Sam’s shoulders and pushes himself up. He leaves his palms flat there, not making any further attempt to move from Sam’s lap. Sam’s hand falls to the side of Lucifer’s neck, thumb rubbing over his pulse-point.

“You need to eat,” Lucifer says, smiling a little.

“I can wait,” Sam counters, and Lucifer laughs.

“Sam,” he says fondly. “How likely is it that, once we’re in bed, you’re going to want to get up for something as mundane as food?”

Sam thinks about this. Then he grumbles a little, quieting when Lucifer presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth and gets up. Sam rolls his neck a little and then stands beside him, slides their fingers together and lifts their hands to lay a thoughtless, easy kiss to the back of Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer sighs softly, expression growing distracted before he forcibly refocuses himself. “Where would you like to go, Sam?”

Sam’s brow furrows while he thinks, then smooths. “Depends. Are you eating too?” Lucifer doesn’t eat frequently, but he’d eaten enough to come to the decision that most diners were unappetizing, and preferred eating elsewhere.

Lucifer shrugs. “Perhaps,” he says, uncaringly.

Sam checks the time. It’s pretty late already, most places won’t be open. But there was a twenty-two hour Japanese restaurant a few short blocks from the motel that was probably open.

They walk there, mostly unbothered by the slight chill in the air. Sam keeps an arm over Lucifer’s shoulders, holding him close to his side. The angel does not object. In fact, he’s nearly smirking when they walk inside.

It’s mostly empty, as expected. There are a few college-aged kids sitting at a booth, eating and talking quietly. Three elderly men are arguing with each other over eggrolls. Someone sits alone at a booth with nothing but a giant plate of fried rice and a laptop, clicking away between bites of food.

They sit in the booth furthest from everyone else, sitting on the same side with their backs to the outside wall. The waiter brings them menus and water and bowls of miso soup. He smiles too much, and tries to flirt with Sam.

Lucifer’s hand slides onto Sam’s thigh as soon as he’s gone, presses his face into Sam’s throat and mutters dark threats until he has to laugh. He turns in his seat and slides a hand into Lucifer’s hair, kisses him. It’s not as gentle as it was earlier, now edged with Lucifer’s possessiveness, but it's still loving. Lucifer mutters  _mine_ against Sam’s mouth, and Sam whispers the word right back to him, fingers tight in blond hair.

They’ve separated by the time the waiter comes back with plates full of food. But Sam has a foot hooked around Lucifer’s ankle, and Lucifer looks inordinately pleased with everything, hand still on Sam's thigh. The waiter tries flirting again, then seems to take in their slightly swollen mouths and Lucifer’s shamelessly wrecked hair, and thinks better of it.

Lucifer asks Sam questions about the food while they eat, stealing things from Sam’s plate and trying to get him to trade what Lucifer doesn’t want. It’s like sitting next to a picky eight year old, but Sam just grins, answers as best he can and plays along with the food exchange. It’s _fun._

Sam leaves a few bills on the table to cover the cost of the meal and they leave, holding hands as they walk. It’s gotten much colder now, wind biting at their skin. Sam shivers, and Lucifer frowns to himself, lifts their hands to kiss Sam’s knuckles. His lips are so cold that Sam can barely distinguish them from the breeze.

When he fumbles with the key to the motel room, numb hands refusing to cooperate, Lucifer lays a hand on his arm. Sam sucks in a breath and forces his frozen fingers to obey, unlocking the door and rushing into the motel room. Lucifer is right behind him, closing the door to keep the warm air inside. He eyes the coats left on top of the duffle bags, and casts a disapproving look at Sam.

Sam feels like an idiot, but he laughs. “It’s fine,” he says, waves it off. “I’m fine. Just a little cold, is all.”

“Is that all?” Lucifer echoes, eyebrows raised. Then he steps closer, and though they’re both frozen to the touch Sam welcomes him into his arms. Sam wraps him in a hug and leans back against the wall, kisses the top of his head. Lucifer buries his face in the hollow of Sam’s throat, hands fisting in the soft cotton of Sam’s shirt. Sam can feel him breathing, deep and slow.

They’re both relaxing, melting into each other. Sam sighs because this is one of those nights where getting caught by Dean is going to lead to things that are a hell of a lot more complicated than _oh my god you’re fucking Satan_.

“Wanna shower together?” Sam offers, because he’s still cold and this motel has better water pressure than most.

Lucifer shifts back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes. “It’s a small shower,” he drawls, eyebrows raised suggestively. His hands slide down, dive under Sam’s shirt and drag back up his chest, shirt getting all bunched up as he does.

“That’s true,” Sam agrees, slides an arm up the back of Lucifer’s shirt. “We’ll just have to find a way to fit.” He digs his nails in at the top of Lucifer’s spine and drags them down slowly, has the pleasure of watching Lucifer melt and shudder against Sam’s chest. His hands have gone lax against Sam’s stomach.

“Couldn’t we just -” Lucifer’s breathing hitches when Sam’s nails start their journey over again. “We could skip the shower?” he suggests hopefully, and Sam grins, shaking his head.

“Nope. I mean, you’re welcome to start without me,” he says, casting a glance toward the bed, hands stilling, “but I think you’d rather get in the shower with me.”

Lucifer’s hands push Sam’s shirt off the rest of the way, slide casually down his chest until he reaches Sam’s jeans. Those hit the ground in a matter of seconds, followed shortly by Sam’s underwear. “I think I’d rather fuck you against this wall,” he breathes, wraps a hand around Sam’s cock and pulls gently, grip tight and perfect.

Sam whines in the back of his throat, hips thrusting out slightly, hands tight on Lucifer’s waist. “Please?” he manages, and Lucifer lifts his eyes from Sam’s dick to his face.

“Really? Against the wall?” Lucifer smirks at him, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I must be rubbing off on you.”

Sam snorts under his breath, eyes fluttering shut when Lucifer twists his wrist. “Not what I meant. I - Please, shower with me? I’m cold,” he adds.

Lucifer sighs heavily, presses even closer and gets a knee between Sam’s thighs. His hand falls away from Sam’s cock to drag gentle nails up and down his thigh, watching the goosebumps that break out on his flesh. Notes the way Sam shudders, relaxing and falling open to him. The unspoken question Sam has been asking is suddenly made apparent to him, and Lucifer smiles, pleased beyond words. He leans in, lips just barely brushing Sam’s.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, their eyes locked together. “Sam. May I?”

There’s a reason Dean would flip his shit if he found Sam alone in here. Since their escape from the Cage, they have been two people in one body. Lucifer separates as much as he can, but he’s still as much a part of Sam now as his liver, and vice versa. Normally, being two people is good enough. They can touch and talk and protect this way. It’s less lonely being two for a week than it is being one, and less confusing. But sometimes. Sometimes all they want is the closeness, the understanding. The ebb and flow of empathy and shared thoughts.

“Yes _._ ”

Light fills the room for a moment. Not as bright as the first time, not the grandiose greeting that had been. This was warmth, familiarity, a quiet _welcome back._

Sam feels the light settle in him and there are new pieces of himself, new pieces of Lucifer, joining together. They breathe as one, curling fingers and rolling shoulders, adapting to their shape. Their eyes open and find an empty room, which is only natural - the projection of Nick’s form was only that, a projection, malleable like clay. There’s no reason for a projection when they’re together like this, no reason for Nick's body to be left empty and waiting when it didn't exist in the first place.

They run a hand down the line of their chest, and they sigh.

 _I’ve got you_ , the Sam-piece of this new, complete creature says. The Lucifer-piece laughs and says, _I know._

They settle, breathe. It’s easier than the first time. Sam fought tooth and nail against the comfort, the rightness of this the first time, and Lucifer had pushed him back. They’d only found this in the Pit, both desperate and terrified, clinging to whatever goodness they could find. They’d become one thing, mostly. Something new with all its gaps filled in, a puzzle finally completed, pulling apart on occasion to talk but always coming back together.

They never do this for very long now. The risk of being caught, of having to explain - it’s very real, and very dangerous. Sam fears what Dean would do to Lucifer, to _them_ , if he knew just how deep their connection runs. So it remains something that belongs only to them, to the halves and their new whole. They guard it, protect it, cherish it. Their experience together is unlike that of an angel’s, or a human’s. It’s both, empathy and choice mixed with grace and ice so cold it burns like flame, new senses and ways of understanding for them both.

There is an unspoken agreement that this entanglement of their beings is something both will protect with their lives.

They walk differently now. Shoulders back, spine straight, but with a contented smile on their face. Their strides across the room are long and confident, but light, soundless.

There is very little real thought, just the understanding of action. There’s no reason for them to overthink this, no need for conversation. Their wills act as one will, moving in tandem like the seamless grind of perfectly aligned gears. The water comes on very warm, and they climb in the small, boxy shower without hesitation. It warms their skin, heat sinking into the muscles of their body and loosening them.

They linger in the spray of hot water for far longer than they normally would, reveling in the tranquility of being whole. But eventually there comes a longing for touch from somewhere inside them, a need for contact. They lean back against the wall, shower water pouring over their face and soaking their hair, and exhale. A moment of push and pull occurs. Half wants to separate to get what they want, the other half wants to keep the closeness.

A proposal is issued, where they can get what they want and be happy with it. Their hands run up their chest, scratching lightly at the wet skin. One hand pushes their hair back while the other tugs lightly at a nipple. They shift, relaxing against the tiled wall and spreading their legs just a bit. Their hands drift downwards again, nails still dragging faintly, along the curve of their hipbones and thighs this time.

Memories are piling up in their mind, flashes of technicolor bliss. Lucifer, jacking Sam off with an unnaturally intense dedication to his pleasure, forcing him to fall apart in his hands. Sam, intent on introducing Lucifer to every facet of carnal desire, bending him over a dresser and eating him out until his jaw ached and Lucifer was coming untouched. Lucifer, fucking Sam like he’s precious and delicate, so slow and steady that it leaves Sam a shaking, incoherent wreck on the bed.

They shiver; they remember everything two ways, from both sides, and the intensity is nearly unbearable. One hand drifts to their cock to give a few easy pulls, and nails dig hard crescents into the skin of their thigh. They drag up, pulling hard lines across the skin while tightening the water-slick grip, thumb rubbing a little too hard over the head. But they (one half) like that, and they tilt their hips forward as they bite back a moan. The hot water stings their face when they turn their head up to the spray, but they don’t mind the addition of another sensation in the slightest.

Their hand moves faster now, twisting and varying pressures exactly the way they like. Nails drag over their chest, dig into a nipple almost hard enough to be truly painful before pinching it. They gasp sharply, soothing the bud with their thumb, but their cock is dripping pre and they know that they can’t last much longer. It’s too good when they’re sharing, when all the pieces are right where they’re supposed to be and there’s no stressful friction of parts. They’re too loose, too relaxed, too willing to follow whims and overwhelm themself.

But then again, they’re hardly bothered by that. Everything gets fast and tight and hard for a moment, and then they’re shuddering, the mess on their hands quickly washed away by the warm water. Their heart thunders in their chest while they recover their breath, and eventually force themself to turn off the water and step out.

They dry off quickly, and step out of the bathroom. Slowly, they gather their clothes from the floor by the door, avoiding Lucifer’s deconstructed fridge as they do. They pull on sweatpants and a loose fitting t-shirt before crawling under the covers, warm and whole and content.

Sam wakes up with a start an indeterminate amount of time later, the last of a fading light behind his eyelids. He twitches hard, eyes flying open. Lucifer is lying next to him under the blankets, expression apologetic. Sam reaches out a hand and runs it through the softness of his hair, making Lucifer smile.

“Apologies,” Lucifer murmurs quietly. “Dean will be coming back soon. I didn’t want him to find the room lacking an occupant.”

“‘S okay,” Sam says, voice slurred a bit with sleep. He - no, _they_ should have thought about that before falling asleep. Sam leans forward, presses a kiss to Lucifer’s cheek before settling back in. Now that the shock of separating has worn off, his exhaustion is creeping back in. His body is reminding him that, no matter what Lucifer is or whatever they are together, _he_ is human, and he needs downtime.

He lets his eyes slip closed again. Sam knows that Lucifer will stay with him until the Impala has come back to the motel, probably in the early hours of the morning. Then he’ll go back to fiddling with machinery in the motel room, or maybe read something from Sam’s bag.

“Sleep well,” Sam hears Lucifer say, very softly. He falls asleep to the press of a kiss on his forehead that feels like a blessing more than anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

“Look, Sam, all I’m saying is that we still don’t know what he wants, alright?” Dean looks distinctly uncomfortable while he talks. Sam chalks up to the peeling sunburn on his face rather than the actual topic at hand - all the discomfort about _that_ is his own. “For all we know Lucifer could be - I dunno, using all the crap he keeps tearing apart to make a, a giant sentient robot or something. Apocalypse via Transformers.”

Sam doesn’t bother glaring, and just rolls his eyes. “The fact that your go-to idea is that he’s making Transformers or trying to incite a robot takeover just furthers my point, Dean. Have you even considered the possibility that he’s telling the truth?”

“Oh, _sure._ Part of it at least. I believe that Cas dragged you up and that Lucifer hitched a ride too or whatever, but I can’t see why he’d come back without some kind of game plan.”

Sam sighs heavily, and leans against the rusting shell of a wrecked Chevy. He’d thought that going to Bobby’s for a few days would help Dean relax a bit. If anything, it had just wound him up even tighter. Thankfully, Bobby was taking things a bit more in stride, though that may have been due to the fact that Lucifer had set Bobby’s contract with Crowley on fire and taken apart four cars that Bobby had directed him too. Sam had _hoped_ to make more progress with Dean, but his brother was being as stubborn as ever.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sam mutters, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at Dean’s impatient expression. “Dean, he was in the Cage basically from the dawn of humankind. I spent less than a month there and - well.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. He has fallen asleep without Lucifer in arm’s reach exactly once since their return, and the screaming alone was enough to convince Dean that Lucifer staying was a requirement. “Can you guess why he might want to get out of there, regardless of having a plan?”

Dean glares. “That still doesn’t mean he isn’t planning something!”

“Why are you so damn suspicious?” Sam demands. “Did he do something?” Lucifer would never, Sam knows that, but asking will make Dean think that he’s willing to doubt Lucifer.

Slowly, Dean shakes his head. “No. Not yet. But Cas is noticing something...weird. Fluctuations in grace. It’s hard to notice when you’re talking about archangel-levels of mojo but, it’s enough, apparently.”

Sam can’t help the flicker of panic he feels from crossing his face, but Dean reads this as an appropriate reaction to bad news and doesn’t question it. “What does he think Lucifer is doing?” Sam asks cautiously. He knows what it is, knows how likely it is that those fluctuations are the feedback from when they join together.

Dean just shrugs. “He isn’t sure. Says it looks pretty dangerous and to keep an eye on him.”

“Well, I’ll watch out for anything weird,” Sam agrees, guilt already itching under his skin at the lie. Dean must read it as disappointment, because he awkwardly claps a hand to Sam’s shoulder.

“I know you two have gotten...close,” he says hesitantly, and Sam shrugs. Close is one way to put it. “Maybe it’s nothing, man, I dunno. But we really can’t afford to risk it. We’re basically sitting on a nuke here, and if it’s gonna go off then we have to know.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He does understand where Dean's coming from, but he knows what the truth is. Once Dean’s arm falls away, he takes a step away from the Chevy. “I’ll head back to the house. Keep me updated and I’ll, uh, let you know if I see anything.”

Dean just nods back at him, but Sam can feel his eyes following him until he’s back inside the house. A phone occasionally rings, Bobby answering gruffly to give advice or impersonate the director of the FBI or CIA or whoever. When he pokes his head into the room, Bobby just points upstairs. Sam smiles briefly at him, then heads up.

Lucifer is digging through the closet of the guest room that has been unofficially Sam’s since childhood. He’s surrounded by a mountain of knick-knacks and discarded clothes, things that never made it into the donation pile and were forgotten about over the years. An ungodly number of secondhand paperback books are lined up against the wall seemingly at random, but each is topped with a folded piece of paper.

“Are those all my summer reading books?” Sam asks, laughing a little under his breath.

“I doubt it’s _all_ of them,” Lucifer allows, glancing over his shoulder to smirk at Sam. “I have six more boxes to look through.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, stepping over the mess into the small circle of space around Lucifer. Lucifer rises gracefully when Sam makes to grab him and pull him up, frowning. “What is it?” He asks, the unspoken _why are you interrupting my process_ very clear through the mild glare Lucifer wears.

“Cas is noticing something Dean called fluctuations in your grace,” Sam says directly.

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “Ah. Do they have any guesses as to _why_ that’s happening?”

“Not yet. Though Dean is rearing for the idea that you’re planning to kill us all, still,” Sam says darkly, frowning until Lucifer reaches out to run a hand through his hair.

“We’ll be fine,” Lucifer says simply, cutting to the root of Sam’s worries, hand resting heavy on the back of Sam’s neck. “Our brothers won’t keep us apart. And if they try…”

“That’s the problem, though,” Sam points out quietly. “They’re going to try, and we’re not going to kill them for being worried that you’re taking advantage of me.”

Lucifer laughs lowly. “If anything, I’m the one being taken advantage of here,” he points out, giving Sam a lewd smirk that makes the hunter laugh.

“I’m serious, Lucifer,” he says, settling again. “What’re we gonna do when they find out?”

Lucifer sighs, and steps out of the messy circle, taking Sam’s hand to help him out as well. They move together to sit on the edge of the bed while Lucifer thinks. “I’m not sure,” he says eventually. “It depends on what they try to do. We can stay and argue with them until they see reason, or if they present too immediate of a threat we could simply leave until they calm down.”

“If we leave we’ll have to stay together,” Sam points out. “I don’t want to think about what would happen if they tried to summon you.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Well it’s not exactly going to happen is it?”

Lucifer tilts his head. “It could. If they’re very determined and _very_ foolish.”

“What would happen, then?”

“It depends on far away they summon me from,” Lucifer starts thoughtfully, looking down at their joined hands. “Less than fifty miles would be uncomfortable but not horrible. Less than a hundred would be as painful as dislocating a joint. Anything more than that would be debilitating for you.”

Sam frowns, and tightens his grip on Lucifer’s hand. “But for you?”

“It would be far less physical for me, but equally hard on my system,” Lucifer admits.

“Okay. So,” Sam sucks in a breath and nods to himself. “If we have to run, we run _together._ ”

Lucifer laughs quietly, bitterly. “How long do you think we can manage that? Sam, we have no idea how long we might be pursued before they listen to reason. We haven’t been together longer than a day since we were freed. Do you think you could manage weeks?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “If it keeps us safe, then I can compromise a bit more.” Then he frowns. “If they summon you, it won’t rip us apart, will it?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” Lucifer shrugs nonchalantly, but he’s still not looking at Sam.

* * *

 

When shit finally hits the fan, they’re separated. Sam thought hunting down the shapeshifter was more important than nabbing a werewolf that wouldn’t be killing again for another few weeks. Dean disagreed, they argued, they split.

He’s arm in arm with Lucifer, walking back to the motel after successfully tracking down and obliterating the shifter. Lucifer is smiling, laughing, relaxed completely now that they’re free from prying eyes. Sam is smiling too, leans in to kiss him -

There’s a feeling like drowning and suffocating all at once. Like Sam’s submerged in water and tried to breathe, but after that first gasp couldn’t even try to take another one. He’s _cold_ , on the ground, concrete sidewalk hard beneath his knees.

There’s a gaping hole in his chest where Lucifer is supposed to be, and now he’s alone, all alone for the first time in months and he can’t _breathe._ Lucifer is gone, and he can feel only the faintest, slightest echo of him, very far away.

Sam hasn’t needed to pray in years, but he does now. _Lucifer. Lucifer, where are you, what happened?_

Silence, but for that screaming void in his chest where his lungs are supposed to be.

He doesn’t know how he does it. Sam manages to stand, and it feels like being shot, except instead of just his chest or his leg, every molecule in his body is screaming at him that his world is _wrongwrongwrong._ But he stands, and he walks. He gets their bags from the motel room, gets in the truck they’d stolen, and he drives.

Sam doesn’t know where he’s going. He starts out just going, changing direction every once and awhile, realizes that some directions make him hurt a tiny bit less. So he goes further, feels the pain lessen as he goes until he can finally think around it.

Lucifer - his body aches a little harder just thinking his name - must have been summoned. But by who? Who was that fucking stupid? Who thought that dragging Lucifer away from him was a good idea?

Oh, of course. Dean and Castiel, probably. Crowley knew better. Raphael wouldn’t dare force Lucifer to pick a side in Heaven’s little war. And unless there was a new player on the field…

Sam doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he gets to wherever the fuck he’s going, but he knows that he is not letting this happen _ever again._ And if he has to raise hell to make sure of that, then so be it.

* * *

 

Everything is - fractured. He can only feel in bits and pieces, can only see and hear in chunks that are too small to make sense of.

There is no oblivion. No rest. There is only the Pit, and his suffering, and the too distant bursts of feeling that tell him the world goes on.

Flames lick his skin and he screams, hears someone else yelling and thinks _Michael_ . He screams some more, in Enochian this time, curses his brother with every ounce of will he has left in his possession. There is nothing left for him. His brother is here or he is there and Sam is undoubtedly dead, their parting was too harsh for any other outcome, he’s _dead_ and it’s all Michael’s fault.

He screams and fights the fire, blind and deaf and numb to all feeling. He will _burn_ before he gives his brother the satisfaction of watching him break down and mourn for his loss. All he had left was Sam and now he’s gone, gone, gone.

Lucifer breaks himself open and he _screams_.

* * *

 

Sam can feel the power barely kept inside the warehouse. His body thrums with it, even as it aches with the cold and the emptiness and the pain. _Lucifer_ , he prays, and a faint scream comes from inside the building.

He throws the doors open and sees Dean. In the center of the warehouse, trapped in holy fire and a building covered in sigils, is Lucifer. Screaming, burned, covered in ash, wings flickering in and out of shadow behind him.

Dean turns and sees him, looks horrified. Sam can only imagine what he looks like, but it must be bad. He starts forward, running as much as he can with his breaking body, and when Dean gets in front of him Sam slams him in the jaw with his fist.

“How _dare_ you,” he hisses, and crosses the fire. Lucifer is still screaming, clawing at his skin, eyes spinning blindly. “Lucifer,” he says, and the storm of power falls momentarily calm.

Broken Enochian comes out of Lucifer’s throat, and he falls to his knees. Sam kneels with him, pulls him into his arms and answers him, voice soft and tender. He can feel the shift as Castiel comes in, feels Lucifer tense and hears him whine, but Sam calms him again.

“Please,” Sam hears, so quiet and hoarse Sam can hardly believe it. Lucifer is weak and limp against him and it’s all so familiar and so new. This is their first night in the Cage flipped backwards.

Sam kisses Lucifer’s hair and whispers his consent, hears Dean screaming for Castiel as the glowing light swallows them both. He can feel the broken chords snapping back together, the hole in his soul finally filled. He has Lucifer and Lucifer has him and they’re _together._

They rise, arms wrapped tightly around their frame. Their power is overflowing from them, they’re too unstable right now, too high on the rush of reconnecting and the relief of being found.

 _I thought I lost you,_ the Lucifer-piece whispers, _I thought you were dead, I thought when we were torn that the shock had killed you, I couldn’t find you -_

The Sam-piece soothes and gentles the other. _I’m here. It hurt but I’m here and we’re together and I will keep you safe this time._

Dean sees his brother and the Devil sharing skin, doesn’t know that for them it feels like they’re very far away and wrapped in each other. Their only thoughts are _together_ and _free._

“Dean, get away!” They hear Castiel say, and finally turn their attention outwards. Castiel looks small to them now, Dean even smaller. But they’re willing to fight them, just because they’re together. It makes them sad and frustrated in turns.

They lift their hand and the fire shudders, freezes over, then shatters into icy particles. The circle is broken and they walk free of it, walk straight up to Castiel and his drawn sword, Dean standing second to his right.

“We don’t want to fight,” they say. They don’t, they never have. This isn’t a form meant for violence. Like this all they are is each other, and love, and compromise. This is supposed to be peace.

“Sam!” Dean says. “C’mon man, fight this!”

They sigh heavily. “We aren’t fighting anything. Not you, not each other, not the world, not your wars. You hurt us both horribly. We just want to feel safe.”

Castiel blinks at them. “Who is in control here?” He asks, and they shake their head.

“We are.”

“Who is we?” Dean presses, looking more alarmed by the second.

“ _Us_.”

“Both of you?”

They make a frustrated sound. “No, neither. _We_ are in control.”

Castiel’s expression clears. “You’re a separate entity?”

“No,” they shake their head. How to explain? “We are both of them, making something bigger. Something whole. They are whole. Complete. Together. Now _they_ are _we_ , because we’re just one now. Following?”

Dean glares. “I think so. I guess we’ll just have to break you up again.”

“Dean, _no -_ ” Castiel says, and they glare at him.

“Why do you hate us? We’re happy like this.”

“Because it’s _wrong!_ ”

They know what wrong is. Wrong is separation, is fear, is the agony of being split. They step towards Dean, and before he can react, press a palm to his head. They impart that agony to him, for just a second, and he collapses.

“That is what we feel when apart. _That_ is wrong.”

They ignore the angel helping Dean up, and make for the door. They get outside faster than those two can stop them, spread their wings, and they vanish.

* * *

 

Sam’s phone has seventy four unopened text messages and over a hundred missed calls. It has been three days since they left together, and one since they separated again.

Lucifer is curled against Sam’s chest, a blanket draped over both of them. Sam is mostly asleep beneath him, but Lucifer still takes comfort from the contact. It’s a relief to have him so close again, to feel the connection even when they aren’t entirely lost in each other. It’s still new enough that it hasn’t faded into thoughtless background noise, almost but not quite resettled into the space between them where it’s supposed to be. Lucifer shudders, presses closer, leaves thoughtless kisses against Sam’s collarbone and neck.

Eventually, Sam blinks his eyes open, rewraps his arm around Lucifer’s waist to keep him close. “You okay?” He asks drowsily. They had both forgotten how exhausting it could be to stay together like that, especially when everything was trying rebuild itself, and they’d spent the better part of their day apart in bed, resting.

“I will be,” Lucifer sighs, uncurling himself to sprawl a bit more freely over Sam’s chest. Then he leans up, presses a kiss behind the curve of Sam’s jaw. “Thank you for finding me.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just tilts their heads until he can kiss Lucifer senseless. “I love you,” he says, fiercely, gratefully. “I’ll always find you.”

Lucifer doesn’t open his eyes, just smiles and murmurs, “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I always think "That'll be all, right? There can't be more."  
> There's more.

It’s been two weeks since Dean and Castiel’s botched summoning, and Lucifer can feel Sam’s indecision. It’s not hard to, even when they’re on opposite sides of the room. Sam is perched on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the phone he turned off four days ago because it wouldn’t stop making noise. Lucifer watches him, sitting cross-legged on a table. There’s a window behind him, letting in the gray, rainy light. He’s run out of things to take apart and rebuild in this room, running out of distractions from his own pain, from Sam’s pain.

Part of Lucifer refuses to grasp why, whines like a child that Sam would feel so much better if he could just relax and let them _be_. But he understands, really, why it’s not the best idea. This is too much, betrayal on a level that Sam can’t fathom Dean committing because Dean would never - and yet he did, out of a lack of understanding and misguided brotherly concern. He needs to process the pain, and he can’t do that if they’re sharing, if he can feel everything Lucifer is feeling too. And what he’s feeling isn’t exactly pleasant.

Incandescent rage, throwing light from himself that cuts hard and fast through whatever it touches. He yearns to rend his brother apart, though he can’t tell if _brother_ means Castiel, or Michael. The pain of an old wound, flaring up and burning like it’s fresh again, like his wings have only just now been broken, burned from him. Creeping, crawling sensations over his skin that drive him to scratch at the skin of his vessel in more than a way to pass for idle movement. It’s a drive, and every time he does he can nearly feel the ash under his nails. It’s nonsense. This form is only as physical as he and Sam want it to be, there can’t be anything wrong with it. He worries quietly that the hallucinations he’d gone through might not be fully over yet, that he still hasn’t healed properly from being torn apart.

Lucifer takes a slow breath, fingers clenching on the edge of the table, before easily sliding off of it. He crosses the room in a few short strides, and drops onto the bed next to Sam. He can’t stay in a bubble the way Sam seems content to. He needs the reassurance, the feeling of reality, of knowing that Sam is safe. Sam glances at him, waiting, but Lucifer just shakes his head, leans into his side and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder, right in the crook of his neck.

Sam sighs, and tilts his cheek to the top of Lucifer’s head for a moment. “You okay?” Sam asks. He knows the answer is no, but Lucifer doubts he’d even ask if he could feel what Lucifer does all the time. He lacks the senses to know emotion from a touch or glance.

“Are you?” Lucifer parrots, and they both fall quiet. So close together, Lucifer can acutely feel the misery seeping from Sam. He’s lost, confused, blinded by pain with no idea of where to go.

They’re both more than a little bit lost.

Lucifer shoves his nose into Sam’s skin, wrapping his arms around his waist. Sam shivers but doesn’t complain about the cold, just leans into him gradually until somehow, they’ve ended up curled together, forehead to forehead, legs tangled, arms around each other. They’ve made an inescapable knot together, and neither of them wants to even think about untangling themselves. They don’t want to think. So they don’t. There is no joining, no sharing, not right now. Sticking together like that hadn’t done the healing process any favors.

Sam’s phone is lost in the sheets. It stays dead and silent while they cling together, both in pain, both hurt, both desperately holding on to what has gotten them through this whole mess.

When they get up, it happens slowly, in pieces. The legs untangle, grips loosen, until they’re just laying next to each other. Sam’s fingers are wrapped gently in Lucifer’s shirt. His eyes are closed, moving slowly under their lids. His mouth is ever so slightly open.

Lucifer isn’t ready for Sam to sleep yet, so he leans in just a little more, presses his mouth to Sam’s open, pliant one. Sam’s fingers tighten, and he makes a small noise, leaning blindly into the kiss. Lucifer keeps it slow, gentle. Coaxes Sam into full awareness with his mouth until Sam pulls him closer, and then Lucifer is on top of him, one knee between his legs, resting on his chest. Sam blinks his eyes open, looking a little bit hazy.

“You woke me up,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

Lucifer smiles smugly at him. “Yes. Did you mind?”

Sam laughs silently, and Lucifer can feel it in his own chest. “No. You wouldn’t’ve done it if you thought I’d mind.”

“True,” Lucifer allows, shrugging as much as he can while lying as he is. He watches Sam’s expression turn thoughtful, and then there’s a hand combing through his short hair. He doesn’t need to look to know Sam’s smiling as his eyes close, immediately tipping his head into Sam’s touch. Sam presses down gently, so Lucifer drops his head, relaxing into Sam’s chest. There’s a warm feeling in him as Sam scratches his fingers in his hair, the motion oddly soothing.

He finds himself drifting off for once - a rarity, despite how many nights he’s spent holding Sam while he sleeps. He knows that Sam is falling asleep too, can feel his heart slowing just a bit as he reaches a state of absolute rest.

“I love you,” he says, the words rushed, spilling from his mouth like they’re a secret he’s only just worked up the courage to share. He sounds raw. Exposed. It unnerves him.

Sam’s hand goes still in his hair, before sliding down to rub soothing circles into the back of his neck. “I love you too,” Sam says, voice soft. It’s the last thing Lucifer is cognizant of before he falls asleep.

* * *

 

It takes another three days for Sam to answer the phone when Dean calls. It goes about as well as Lucifer expected.

“Hi, Dean.”

“ _Sam! Jesus, man, are - are you okay?_ ”

“I’m - “ Sam pauses, swallows. “We’re okay.”

“ _...He’s still with you, huh?_ ”

Lucifer huffs. “Where else would I be?” he poses sarcastically. “I am attached to Sam, quite literally.”

“ _So, what, your whole freaky two-being-one show is just because you rode his bones?_ ”

Lucifer marvels at the silence that follows, the tense and heavy weight of it. Sam is flushing red, hand clenching into a fist and shaking. Lucifer takes his hand, forces it to uncurl and holds it between his own.

“That’s uncalled for, Dean,” Sam says slowly. “If you and Cas just asked what was going on, we would’ve explained.”

Dean scoffs. “ _Why don’t I believe you?_ ”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Lucifer retorts. “Why haven’t you and Castiel told Sam about the fact that you have secret meetings to fuck?”

There’s a funny choking noise from the other side of the line, and Lucifer grins in a way that is unquestionably malevolent.

“We all have things that we keep from each other, Dean,” Sam continues, sounding almost perfectly level now. “Lucifer and I were still trying to figure out exactly how we wanted things to work. We weren’t going to share until we felt ready to, and like you wouldn’t try to drag us apart when you found out. Which you did.”

“ _That was unfair of us_ ,” Cas finally speaks up. “ _However, Sam, do you see where we’re coming from? You are not known for making wise decisions, and Lucifer is nothing if not manipulative. We didn’t want you to - to get hurt._ ”

Sam’s expression has gone flat in a way that Lucifer hasn’t seen before. It’s like Castiel’s words have reached into him and scooped out the capacity for emotion. Lucifer can barely feel anything from him. It’s all static numbness.

“You didn’t want me to fuck up again. That’s what you mean, you can say it.” Sam’s voice has gone soft, quiet. Passive acceptance of whatever fault they wish to heap upon him next. It makes Lucifer clench his teeth.

“ _You’re kind of prone to making seriously poor character judgements, Sam_.”

They’re blaming him. Blaming him, when this isn’t even relevant to the issue. Blaming him to make themselves feel better about what they did, like they had the moral high ground.

“I don’t think you understand what you did,” Lucifer says lowly. His voice is frozen and deadly. “You could have killed Sam. Has that occurred to you? If you had gone another hundred miles east for your summoning, Sam would have _died_. And what would have happened after that…” Lucifer trails off with a low, dark laugh. There’s no need to elaborate on what ruin Lucifer, grief-crazed and broken, would bring upon the world.

The phone is resoundingly silent. Sam is staring silently into his lap, his hand cold between Lucifer’s.

“ _Like I said. Poor character judgement,_ ” Dean sounds almost triumphant.

Sam lifts his hollow eyes to the phone. “If you can’t see why this was wrong, or why what you did was dangerous at the very _least_ , then I’m done.” Exhaustion bleeds off of him in waves. “Goodbye, Dean, Cas.”

“ _No, Sam, wait -_ ”

Sam ends the call. It immediately begins to buzz again, so Sam turns it off.

They don’t talk. Sam withdraws his hand from Lucifer’s, stands up, and locks himself in the bathroom. Lucifer picks up the phone, and takes it apart.

By the time Sam comes back out of the bathroom, somehow looking even worse than when he went in, the phone is in irreparable pieces on the table. The fragments are evenly laid out, forming a nonsensical mosaic on the table.

They stare at each other for a moment, then Sam takes a step forward, Lucifer is out of his seat, and they meet in the middle.

“What would have happened?” Sam rasps. His face is buried in Lucifer’s shoulder, and he clings fiercely to him. “If I had died, what - what would have happened?”

Lucifer closes his eyes. “I would have been directionless, lost to myself. I would not have been myself for very long. There would have been storms, floods. I would have wiped this earth clean, and destroyed whatever got in my way. Angels, men, demons - it wouldn’t have mattered. I would have killed them all.”

The admission of complete and utter destruction doesn’t garner anything like fear and belligerence. Sam just grabs him even harder, kisses him, and it tastes like salt water, like the misery Sam has carried for the last few days, and the cancerous guilt that has followed him for far longer.

“Please,” he hears, Sam’s voice breaking and breaking a part of Lucifer with it. “Lucifer, _please_.”

Light bursts outwards as they phase into each other, and then they’re on the floor, arms wrapped around themself, tears falling from their eyes. The Lucifer-piece wraps itself around the Sam-piece, protecting, sheltering, just like they spent eons doing in the dark and the flames.

The rain outside turns to soft, light flakes. The flakes stick together until fist sized clumps of snow are sticking to the ground, quickly overwhelming the landscape and drowning it in a sudden winter storm.

They don’t notice. They curl into a ball on the bed, hunched in on themself, and cry until they have nothing left to give.


	4. Chapter 4

They slip apart, once Sam falls asleep. He wakes up only briefly, to reach out and pull Lucifer a bit closer, before sinking into oblivion again. Lucifer stays awake, in Sam’s grasp. He twines their fingers together, studying the delicate structure of skin and muscle and bone, tracing the lines on Sam’s palm to distract himself.

Everything still feels too jarring, too _real_. He doesn’t like it. The crawling, biological reactions of discomfort aren’t even things he should be experiencing, but perhaps this visage retains some memory of how it was supposed to function. Regardless, it shouldn’t be happening at all. Angels don’t get sick. They don’t gather illnesses the way humans do. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be drowning in the sense-memory of his own abandonment. His wings are old wounds, the ash from his blistering descent long since washed away. Yet he remembers the feeling of his wings being immolated so vividly that now, in any unguarded moment, he relives the exact way it felt. He feels disgusting, tarnished, like the ash still covers the entirety of his being, like there is still blood dripping from wounds that have long since healed. Like he is still screaming, wretched, lying in the grave his descent had made for him.

Like he can still see Michael’s frozen, passionless face, the moment he let Lucifer go, chose to  let him fall.

Lucifer shudders involuntarily, fingers tightening on Sam’s hand. Too hard, he realizes, quickly letting go when Sam flinches, jolting awake.

“Apologies,” Lucifer murmurs, and rubs a hand over his face, in the interest of a distracting sensation more than anything else.

Sam reaches out, gently catching his wrist, drawing it away from his face before joining their hands together again. He looks terrible - beautiful, as always, but worn thin, skin tinted gray in the muted light from the window, eyes red rimmed and bleary and slightly bloodshot. His hair is a mess, and some stubble has appeared around his jaw. Lucifer reaches out, runs his hand through Sam’s hair to fix it. He leaves his hand curled around Sam’s cheek, sighing fondly when Sam leans into it. Warm hazel is hidden from him when Sam closes his eyes, nose pressing into his palm. Lips press against his palm, and Lucifer smiles.

Sam looks back to him, smiling back, but something he sees on Lucifer’s face makes him pause, brow furrowing. “Is something wrong?”

Lucifer sighs, and brings Sam’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “It’s nothing important,” he says, rather than answer.

“But something _is_ wrong,” Sam confirms, and Lucifer shrugs ambiguously.

“Yes.” He won’t lie, but he won’t force the details on Sam either.

Sam is starting to frown, and Lucifer can’t help but rub his thumb over the divot that appears on his forehead, smoothing it away. Sam twists his hand in Lucifer’s grasp so that he can rub his thumb over the back of Lucifer’s hand. “Tell me?” his voice lifts at the end, turning demand into question.

Lucifer struggles with himself briefly, and then sighs. Unsure how to word it all. “My memories are getting out of hand,” Lucifer admits, sagging slightly where he sits. “If I’m not careful, I feel like they’ll consume me.” Sam is listening, rapt and quiet, and the words tumble from Lucifer’s lips in an uncharacteristic rush. “I’m constantly falling. I can feel the atmosphere scorching me as I do, I feel the earth cracking underneath of me when I hit the ground, I -”

Sam’s hand curls around the back of his neck, and Lucifer falls silent as he is pulled in against Sam’s chest. He shudders when Sam’s hand rubs over his back, the motions soothing and alien to him all at once. He feels divorced from himself, from Sam. Lucifer is utterly adrift.

Thankfully, Sam seems to realize this. He keeps Lucifer close, wrapped in his arms, and helps tether him. “I take it this is because of the summoning?" he asks, no pressure in his voice at all.

“I'd assume so. We both know the state it put us in."

There are fingers dragging through Lucifer’s hair, nails scratching gently along his scalp. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes, allows Sam to stroke his hair and does his best to simply stop feeling for a long while.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Sam asks, voice quiet but open, concerned. Lucifer feels an unwilling jolt of surprise. He hadn’t even considered it.

“I’m not sure.” Now that he’s considering it, there is something, but… “Perhaps.”

Sam’s hand slides under his chin, pulls his gaze up gently. Lucifer isn’t entirely sure what his own expression looks like, but whatever Sam sees there makes his mouth turn down and his eyes turn sad. “Whatever you need,” he says, and offers a smile. “Just say the word.”

Lucifer closes his eyes, and takes a breath. Then he pulls away, much to Sam’s visible confusion. “Stay put,” he says, and Sam hesitates for half a second before he nods. He watches as Lucifer untangles himself from the blankets, pulls his shirt off, and sits back on his heels.

For a moment, the dark motel room is lit, light spilling out from the window out into the night. When it fades, it takes Sam a few moments to blink the spots from his eyes and see properly again, and his heart stutters at what he sees.

Lucifer holds his eyes, jaw set, hands fisting up the fabric of his pants. There are wings, broad and strong and brilliantly white, taking up the space behind him. As Sam’s eyes take them in, breath caught in his throat, he can see where the moonlight catches on faint silver dust in the feathers. Sam can’t find words. He can barely even remember how to breathe. Whatever he was expecting, _this_ was not it.

“Lucifer,” Sam says his name softly, reverently. He can see the tension in Lucifer soften slightly at the sound. “I - Lucifer?” He can’t figure out what else to say, how to ask for an explanation.

He doesn’t seem to need the invitation, though. “My wings were destroyed, when I fell. Michael -” He can’t seem to bring himself to finish the sentence, and shakes his head. “I thought that, perhaps, having a second pair of eyes proving that they’ve healed, that they aren’t - that I’m not - still destroyed.”

“Oh,” Sam’s voice is soft, barely there. Utterly stunned, hands limp and occasionally twitching in his lap. Lucifer frowns, but then he smiles slightly, just a soft curve of the corner of his mouth.

“You can touch them,” he says, and that gets Sam’s attention. Hazel eyes zero in on his own, perfectly present and attentive.

“You’re sure?”

Lucifer nods, and Sam shuffles forward on his knees, till they’re mirroring each other and Sam is close enough to reach out a careful hand.

The feathers under his hand are soft but sturdy. He moves his fingers down through the feathers, following the grain, and his eyes skip to Lucifer’s face when he hears him let out a breath. Lucifer’s eyes are closed, brow furrowed, lips parted as he takes in a breath. Sam doesn’t like the furrow in his brow, the tension he can still see in his shoulders and spine. He watches Lucifer as he moves his hand carefully up to follow the strong curve of the wing, sees him sigh and draw his lower lip between his teeth, feels the slow breath he lets out.

Sam runs his other hand through Lucifer’s hair, letting it rest on the back on his neck. “Are you okay?” Sam asks, still dragging his fingers through Lucifer’s wing in slow, repetitive motions. He can feel the muscle under the feathers, feels the raised lines and ragged dips of what must be scar tissue in the flesh. He can feel now where there are gaps in the feathers, invisible to his eyes but clearly felt under his hands.

It takes visible effort for Lucifer to open his eyes, and even more so to speak. “I don’t know.” He sounds utterly lost, overwhelmed, and brings one hand up to wrap around Sam’s wrist. Lucifer pulls his hand away from his neck, but holds on, twining their fingers together.

Sam pauses, squeezes Lucifer’s hand. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, but Lucifer is shaking his head almost before he finishes the question.

“No, it’s just -” Lucifer makes a soft noise when Sam scratches gently against the base of the wings. “It’s been a very long time since anyone has touched them. I know I asked you to, but -”

He can’t seem to finish, so Sam squeezes his hand again. “C’mere,” he says, and gently pulls Lucifer forward, so that he’s straddling Sam’s lap. His wings shift and spread as he moves, balancing him. Lucifer leans his head against Sam’s forehead, eyes closed, body still too tense for Sam’s liking. Sam kisses him carefully, at first, but Lucifer makes a wounded noise and throws himself into it, tangling both of his hands in Sam’s shirt and kisses him with abandon.

Sam lets him, kisses back, lets Lucifer take what he needs. He moves both of his hands into Lucifer’s wings, finds where feathers meet skin and treats every soft downy feather delicately, scratching without pulling, keeping his touch gentle. When the kiss breaks, and Lucifer’s mouth migrates to trace the line of his neck, Sam says, “You’re beautiful, Lucifer.”

Lucifer sighs against the side of his neck, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders. Sam takes a shuddering breath, because the air is heavy and electric and Lucifer -

Lucifer’s eyes are dark and lost, searching for something in Sam’s expression. When he pushes, carefully, against Sam’s shoulders, Sam lets himself be moved. Doesn’t resist when he’s pushed down into the bed, stays put when Lucifer puts his hands on his own thighs, hands curling and uncurling there. Sam takes one hand gently, notices how the wings twitch when he kisses his knuckles. Lets Lucifer take his hand back, curling it around Sam’s cheek, something heavy in his eyes when Sam tilts his head into his hand.

“I love you,” Lucifer says, that inborn love of angels bleeding through in his voice, aching with it.

Sam pushes himself upwards with one arm, drawing Lucifer closer with a hand on the back of his neck. Lucifer’s palm falls to Sam’s chest, bunching up the fabric there into a ball in his hand, relaxing it when Sam kisses him, softly and carefully. “I love you too,” he says, quiet and fond and firm, unwavering.

Lucifer makes a noise, something desperate, and kisses him again, deeper, drawing Sam’s lower lip into his mouth. Sam hooks his legs behind Lucifer’s thighs, pressing them together as Lucifer grinds down into him, gasping and pushing up against the friction. He drags his nails down over Lucifer’s lower back, just beneath his wings, and pushes down Lucifer’s pants.

There’s a brief tangle as they strip each other, but Lucifer soon has divested Sam of his clothes, and has moved to kneel between his legs. Sam props himself up to watch as Lucifer swallows him down, moaning at the sight, digging his fingers into Lucifer’s hair. There’s something almost surreal about watching Lucifer. Wings spread, twitching and moving as his head bobs around Sam’s cock, fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs. But he can only appreciate for so long before he has to close his eyes, groaning out Lucifer’s name in a breathless litany, fingers tightening in his hair. Lucifer hums around him, and Sam can’t take it anymore, pulls Lucifer off and kisses the taste of himself from his mouth.

Lucifer kneels over Sam, sighing when Sam’s hands slip between his thighs, digging into the curve of his ass, groaning when he slides a finger inside him, followed shortly by a second. Sam takes his time, stretching him, teasing him, Lucifer’s fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders to keep a hold of himself. His fingers glance over Lucifer’s prostate too often to be accidental, and Lucifer groans into Sam’s mouth as they kiss. He’s losing himself in this, in Sam, letting himself feel this and nothing else because none of the rest of it _matters_. Sam is alive, they’re both alive and together and safe, and that’s all he needs to know.

Sam guides himself in carefully, pulling Lucifer slowly down into his lap. Lucifer lets out a shuddering breath, moaning quietly when Sam kisses his neck and bites down. He’s so full, and they’re so closely entwined that they may as well be one, and Lucifer can feel himself slipping away, knows that as soon as they start to move there won’t be anything more to himself than desire and desperation.

“Sam,” he gasps, tilting his head back, eyes closing as he pushes himself further down on Sam’s cock. “ _Sam._ ”

There are hands in his wings again, and Lucifer can’t help but moan, rising up and sinking down hard, fucking himself and forcing a shaky groan from Sam. He keeps moving, hands moving from Sam’s shoulders to his face, fingers tight in his hair as they kiss. Sam’s nails drag against his spine, the delicate skin at the base of his wings, along the main ridge of bone.

He feels like he’s on fire, burning from the inside out again, but now he revels in it, chases it. “Please, Sam,” Lucifer pants against his mouth, not even sure what he’s asking for. “ _Please."_

They tumble sideways, Lucifer’s legs wrapping firmly around Sam’s waist as he ends up on his back, wings splayed over the bed. Sam’s hands slide up carefully, and settle on the main bone, near his shoulders. He tightens his grip, and leans his weight into his hands, slowly thrusting into Lucifer as he moans. He could escape, easily, but he doesn’t. Lucifer lets Sam hold him down by his wings, wraps his arms around Sam’s chest and keeps him close.

Sam’s movements and his mouth are gentle, measured and so slow that it aches, but his grip is firm. He rolls his hips again and again, till Lucifer is writhing and whining, wings twitching in Sam’s grip, and the pressure breaks in a rush of white noise and pleasure and Lucifer can hardly keep himself together, crying out without a thought to quieting himself. He can feel Sam picking up his movements, harder and faster until he moans into Lucifer’s neck. Lucifer whines softly when he feels Sam’s come leaking out of him, just a bit, as he goes soft inside of him. There’s a sticky mess between the two of them, and neither can bring themselves to care.

“Thank you, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs, while Sam strokes his wings with a gentle touch. He makes a displeased sound when the touching stops, pushes his wing into Sam’s hand until it continues.

“Of course, Lucifer,” Sam says, voice soft. “Guess that helped, huh?”

Lucifer takes a moment, just breathes. He feels more like himself; underneath the biological illusion of his form and the salty sweat on his skin, he feels raw, scrubbed clean. There is no more ash, no more blood in his wings. He closes his eyes and sees nothing but the dark. “It did,” he agrees, voice a little worn and tired, but relaxed.

Sam hums a pleased note, resting his head against the curve of Lucifer’s neck. Lucifer sighs as he kisses the salt from his neck, trailing warm, wet kisses, all slow and lazy. He’s shifting around too, weight moving here and there, legs moving, tangling with Lucifer’s.

It takes a little while for Lucifer to realize what Sam is doing. He’s being protected in whatever capacity Sam can offer to him, his own body curled around Lucifer like a shield, holding him firmly but gently. The realization drives him to momentary, unnatural stillness. Other half or not, Sam is human, infinitely weaker and more vulnerable and more susceptible to death in every way, and yet - _and yet_ -

“Lucifer?” Sam’s voice is soft and concerned all over again, one hand curling lightly around his jaw, tilting his gaze to Sam.

It crashes into Lucifer, with certainty, that Sam would have fallen with him. If Michael had felt half as protective as Sam is now, he would not have fallen alone.

He tilts his head into Sam’s hand, eyes closed. Then he works to rearrange himself, folding his wings against his back, curling into Sam’s embrace. Letting himself be sheltered.

“I love you,” Lucifer says softly, voice quiet where he’s speaking against Sam’s collarbone. The words ache when he says them.

Sam kisses his forehead. “I love you too.” He tucks his head into the curve of Lucifer’s neck, eyes closed, relaxing. “Try to get some rest, okay? I’ll look out for you.”

Lucifer nods, presses a light kiss to the side of Sam’s head. “Thank you, Sam,” he says again, soft and sincere. He lets his eyes fall closed, sighing quietly. Between Sam’s warm weight and the relaxed heaviness in his limbs, it isn’t long at all before Lucifer succumbs to sleep, undisturbed by dreams.


End file.
